


He knows if you've been bad or good..

by Meadowsweet (grumpyphoenix)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #Spnxmas, Christmas Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/Meadowsweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas eve, and the boys meet a stranger who knocks their fool heads together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He knows if you've been bad or good..

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the #spnxmas on twitter. Merry Christmas @apowers03!

This night is amazingly dark. Every light in a ten mile radius had blown, and the sky is a typical winter concoction of formless night time grey; not a single star pierces the gloom, nor could the way be eased by the light of a moon. The brothers move as one through it, guns raised, cautious hunter’s feet padding across suburban driveways. It had been a snow-less winter, everyplace plagued with amazingly cold rain that somehow didn't even leave icicles behind. Drab, never ending weather. They weren't even sure what was going on; Sam had been tracking the weather on his computer, and had gone on about cloud formations for a full hour before Dean shut him down. All he really heard was ‘blah blah spiral, meh meh pattern... Dean!’ so he’d gassed Baby up, and driven where he was pointed.

A burst of noise that sounds a lot like static from inside a house has them crouching and waiting behind a...what was this? A mesh Reindeer. Okay, and a hedge. They wait. It isn't like Dean doesn't want to be here. Hunting is the only thing that makes any sense any more. It was just a few weeks from the last incident while rescuing Claire, he wasn't sure who he was any more, and he was tired. The entire drive with Sammy in the seat beside him, he had been more at home in his own skin than he’s felt in a long time. A feather-light touch on his back makes him blink and sends him forward, leading the way up to a side door off the driveway, which is miraculously unlocked. 

The kitchen beyond is dark, but a light has sparked ahead in what Dean suspects is a living room. Together they stalk through the hall and edge up into a comfortable room in which a roaring fire is the only illumination. Dean lowers his gun halfway in confusion, raising his brow at his brother, who shrugs. Sitting in a chair next to the fire is a white haired man with fearsome eyebrows and a very large book. A table at his elbow has a steaming mug of something that smells lovely, and in his lap is a huge book. He smiles, unconcerned with the guns, and gestures to the rug that lies basking before the fireplace.

“Please,” he begins, and his voice is rich, deep and indulgent, “Boys, sit.”

He rolls his eyes when Dean merely raises his gun and attempts to stare him down. Unimpressed, he begins speaking anyway, holding the book in front of him like a prop. Dean snorts a little at Monster Storytime, but the man ignores him. 

“Once, there were two boys. Brothers, though you would never know that from their behavior. The oldest was reckless. With his life, and his friends, with the truth. He was never reckless with his brother though. His brother, he loved. He took care of him and watched his back and gave him all the parts of his heart that were free.

His brother wasn't any less reckless. The younger brother, he took and took, absorbing all elder brother’s love, gorging until he was full. The trouble with eating so fast, though, is that you never know when you’re done. He kept looking for love, not understanding that he already had it, pushing and pushing against his brother until he took off like a rocket. “

Dean takes a step forward, violence and mayhem promised by every line in his body, stopped only by the calming touch on his arm from Sam. The man pauses to take a drink from his fragrant mug; Dean catches a whiff of cinnamon and something dark underneath…cloves maybe. Sam jerks his head at the mantle, and Dean takes it in fully for the first time. 

It’s covered in pictures. Two boys, arms around each other, smiling and close. Skiing, swimming, mugging for the camera. 

When Dean looks back at the man, he blinks again. Surely this guy’s beard hadn't been that long before. He growls, “What’s the point, dude? Yes, we've made mistakes. So what. We’re here now.” 

The man smiles and closes the book, resting one hand over it. “This isn't about you. You two nitwits have screwed with the order of things so hard that creatures extinct for centuries just keep popping up. Tonight is a night that will be remembered for years to come, if you don’t get your act together. “

He holds up his book so they can see the cover. Sam sucks in a breath, and Dean squints. “Freaky. “ 

Behind him, Sam is flipping out, “Dean, that’s the Krampus. He takes children at Christmas time. Some people say he eats them, some say he takes them to Hell. “ 

The man in the chair smiles mirthlessly. “Yes. This world hasn't seen this particular piece of fun in a long time. And you can’t fight him if you’re uneasy with yourselves. He’ll take you both, these boys, and every other child who’s ever done anything wrong in this entire area until the sun comes up. You two, “he stabs at each of them with a finger, “You two kill him. He shows up at midnight. “ 

He stands up, and he rivals Sam for height, looking down his nose at Dean imperiously. “Love isn’t enough. That you love each other, no one can deny. Get your shit together. And here. Merry Christmas.” He tosses Sam a long wrapped package and fades even as it makes the arc through the air. 

“Holly stakes dipped in blood, “ Sam reports as he looks in the package. He looks at Dean. Dean looks back, shifting a little. 

There’s a long awkward silence. 

“Look, Dean, “ Sam begins, but Dean cuts him off. 

“No. Sam. I should have respected you enough to let you go. You were prepared to save the world again, and I was too wrapped up in my own crap. But even after that, I just... I took the mark without talking to you first, and didn't give you time.” He laughs harshly, “I just jump right to destroying myself, and then you have to pick me up.” He shrugs self-consciously and looks at the pictures of the boys the mantle. He wonders if it’s even real. 

Sam claps a hand on his shoulder. “I was a dick. I mean, I was entitled to be a dick,” Dean shrugs in agreement, and it makes him huff out a half a laugh, “Yeah. But I saw what it was doing to you, and I didn't… I just let you go down in flames. Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

They do an awkward man-hug shuffle, breaking apart when the clock on the mantle (Dean narrows his eyes at it, he’s sure there wasn't a fancy scroll work-laden clock there before) strikes twelve. They turn at the same time, holly stakes raised to greet the nightmare of hooves and horns that’s come down the chimney covered in gore and soot.   
* 

Dean is laughing at Sam as they stumble out of the house an hour later, followed by a dazed family. The two boys are shaken but alive, waving from behind their parents as the Winchesters get to Baby and take stock of each other. Sam is covered in tinsel, the Krampus’ blood sticking it to him; he keeps trying to remove it, strand by strand. Dean claps him on the back, and says something about a motel back up the interstate. They get in the car and the lights start to come back on around them as they drive off. The fact that it’s now Christmas day hits Dean hard as they pass houses that are now lit with colored lights again, and he smiles to himself. Snow! It was snowing. 

“Jingle Bells, Sammy, “ he grins, turning on the radio. Sam laughs and slumps against the window. 

The Impala rounds the corner and drives off into the blue of pre-dawn, and the two figures watch it go. The taller one asks, “Well, I did you the favor. You’re sure this was worth it?” 

He shrugs his red coat on while the other smiles. The blinking reindeer on the lawn behind him frames his dapper black suit and slicked back hair in red for a moment, and then darkness, over and over frantically until it burns out with a spark. Something about the smile makes the immortal in the red coat shiver. 

“They will need each other in the days to come, and I owe them this. Thank you, Nicholas,” his voice is calm and quiet. 

The streetlights come back on a moment later, illuminating the snow which swirls around the empty sidewalk.


End file.
